Chicken Soup for the Nation's Soul
by eloquentelegance
Summary: The story of the nations we love from the humans who loved them. A nation from a mortal point of view. Sister: He was my troublesome, annoying, foolish, lovable little brother.
1. Foreword

_human: hu-man  
-adjective  
1.) of, pertaining to, characteristic of, or having the nature of people  
-noun  
2.) a human being_

_nation: na-tion  
-noun  
1.) a large body of people, associated with a particular territory, that is sufficiently conscious of its unity to seek or to possess a government peculiarly its own  
2.) an aggregation of persons of the same ethnic family, often speaking the same language or cognate languages_

_country: coun-try  
-noun  
1.) territory of a nation  
2.) a tract of land considered apart from any geographical or political limits; region; district_

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* * *

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**FOREWORD**

Ragged scars grafted unto broad planes of flesh.  
Old eyes.  
Tired, weary bones.

A nation is... A Nation is...  
What is a human?

What makes a Nation?

Why were we placed here on this Earth? Are we really here? What are we?

We are Nations. We are nations.

We are Humans.


	2. Preface

_I dedicate this book to all Nations. Past. Present. And Future._

* * *

**PREFACE**

This book was not written by any one author. This book is an anthology, a collection of stories by people from all walks of life connected only by a sole entity.

_Them._

I made this book in hopes that you might find this valuable.

To address some concerns pertaining to the title, there have been those skeptic about the nature of a Nation's soul. Does it exist? How can an embodiment of tens of thousands, of millions, only have but one?

How can a Nation who bears the marks of History ever be a singular existence?

So, if I may make a suggestion to all the readers, the nay-sayers, and even to those who couldn't care less. To all of you out there, why not peek into these pages and find out?


	3. Neighbor

For as long as I can remember, he has always been our neighbor. He has been my father's neighbor, my grandfather's neighbor, and the neighbor of his father before him. No, he is not stalking us. Our home has been in our family for generations, and in each of those generations, he has been our neighbor. He hasn't moved and neither have we.

And by he, I don't mean he and his family, for it seem he has none. He has lived alone in his big, Meijin-era house for as long as I can remember, and as long as my grandfather can remember as well. He hasn't changed since my ancestors first met him all those years before. And my family believe him to be a god, a spirit, and they honor him as such. Although we address him as -san instead of -sama, by his request, I'm sure he knows, whenever something of incredible fortune happens to us, we are responsible for the gifts at his gate.

I think my family has every right to think of him as a god. He should be as old as my great-great-great-great granfather, if my ancestor was still alive, and should look just as ancient. Instead, he has been wavering between early-mid twenties for decades. He hasn't aged a day. And ever since we became neighbor, good fortune has blessed our family. My grandfather likes to tell me of a story his family told him. During WWII, our neigbor had personally overseen the evacuation of my family as Allied planes firebombed our city. My great-grandfather was a boy back then but he remembered how each soldier they met just seemed to know who his family was and stumbled over themselves to bring his family to safety. When my great-grandfather asked, filled with childish curiosity, why his family was being aided. His family standing horrified behind him, afraid he had just jinxed all of them. The soldier only laughed and ruffled his hair.

"Honda-san asked us to."

Honda Kiku. Our honored neighbor. Ever since then, as they lived on to rebuild our grand, old house, my family was convinced of his godhood. And they still believe it to this day. My brother just gained entry to Tokyo U. and he credited our honored neighbor for aiding him in his studies. He had been lagging behind in history and had doomed himself to failing the big test, when he met Honda Kiku at the library. He claims Honda Kiku symptahized with his plight and knew just the right book on the Shogunate. Of course, the recommended book had every info he needed and he passed with flying colors.

"It was with Tonari-sama's blessing."

And so on and so forth.

As for me? I don't think Honda Kiku is a god. I think that's just silly. He doesn't have a long nose like a Tengu, or a tail like a Kitsune. He has never displayed magical prowess. I think he's just Kiku-san. Just plain, old Kiku-san.

For as long as we've known him, our family had always been courteous and polite. Nothing but. And yet, we've never invited him for dinner, made small talk, or seen the inside of his house. We respected our 'god' too much. To be so informal would not only be a disgrace, but would seem ungrateful as well. And he had simply done so much for us.

And perhaps, if things had not turned out the way they turned out. If Fate had not intervened. I would be beside my family, discreetly kowtowing behind Kiku-san's back. Except, one day, when I was only five, I personally met Honda Kiku. Or rather, I stumbled into him.

I was playing in our backyard when my ball flew over the wall seperating my house and Kiku-san's. I did the only thing logical in my five-year-old wisdom.

I went after my ball. I snuck into Kiku-san's house. I had thought it would be an easy get-in-get-out mission. Except, my ball wasn't in the yard. I found my ball in his living room, where the sliding, shoji door opened into the yard. And as I reached to get my toy, I stumbled and fell right into Kiku-san's lap.

I was terrified. I thought he would curse me or something equally horrible. I began to apologize profusely but Kiku-san only laughed. He patted me on the head, and returned my ball. It would've ended at that when a Sailor Moon figurine caught my attention. I squealed and before I knew it, we began talking about our favorite Sailor Scouts. I was pleasantly surprised to learn Kiku-san was well-versed in the intricacies of the the Sailor Moon plot. He had even met Naomi Takeuchi! I was so impressed! And we just... lost ourselves from there.

By the time we had finished, it was late afternoon. And my mom was calling me to dinner. I reluctantly said goodbye and Kiku-san, sensing my disappointment, smiled.

"You can come over anytime you please." He had said.

That's when I noticed. How empty his house was. Only old heirlooms lined his shelves and only classical paintings on his walls. There wasn't a single photograph in sight. There are ten rooms in Kiku-san's house. The dining room, the living room, the kitchen, the study, the video game room, and the five bedrooms with Kiku-san to fill them all. And I remembered thinking... Isn't that lonely?

It was with this thought that I found my resolve. A tradition was born. Every day after school, I visited Kiku-san. If only for a few hours at a time, I'd talk about my day and he'd listen. He would understand like no one else could. He would cheer me up after a bad day, and celebrate with me on a good day. He'd show me his newest video games, sometimes games that haven't hit the stores yet. He'd make me sweets and we'd talk about the newest plot twist in the latest volume of Kare Kano. We'd talk about just about everything. How I wanted to be a writer or a manga artist when I grew up, what kind of house I wanted to have, and all the things I wanted to buy, even what my dream guy was like.

Kiku-san listened to it all.

Kiku-san was my best friend.

Through it all, my family was none the wiser. I never deliberately hid from them. But they stayed clueless nonetheless. That might've been for the best, my family would've freaked out otherwise. Besides, I never lied to them. I was at a friend's house.

But... as I grew older, as I entered high school, my visits grew shorter. The time in between grew longer. I was creating a life for myself. I had new friends, I began going out more, I was becoming a teenager. And everything suddenly felt brand new and exciting. I felt so grown-up and Kiku-san was just a thing of the past, something from my childhood.

I would've forgotten about him, except, we live right next to each other. Seeing his house every single day, before I went to school, was a painful reminder of how much I was ignoring him. And one day, I finally gathered the courage to knock on his door once more. I was fully prepared to take the heat, I mean I thought of course he would be angry at me. I usually saw him everyday and now all of a sudden, I barely visited. If I were in his shoes, I would be steaming mad.

Instead, he greeted me at the door as if I hadn't dropped by in weeks. He offered me refreshments like he did whenever I came. There was no tension in the air, he was smiling and ever so pleasant. He asked me how my day went... And did he even notice I was gone? Did he even care? Here I was feeling guilty about leaving him for my new friends, and here he was not even realizing my absence.

I...

I got angry.

I yelled and stomped my feet. Why? You should be angry! You should be mad! You should be interrogating me, asking where I was? Why haven't I visited? Why was I ignoring you? You should be kicking me out! You should be shouting! You should be furious! You should... You should care...

Because I cared.

I cared a lot. I... I wanted him to notice I was gone. I wanted him to be the slightest bit worried. I wanted him to fuss over me and ask me where I've been. I wanted him to care. Because I cared.

Because I missed him.

Because at the end of the day, after going out with my friends, I would peek out my bedroom window and see his house. I would see his bedroom light on and I would think about what he was doing. I would wonder what new video game he was staying up all night playing. I would wonder how much paperwork he must be doing. I would wonder if he was tired. I would wonder if he was hungry. I would wonder if he was thinking of me.

Because I wanted him to think of me.

And I knew I was being selfish, because I was the one who left and not him. But still, I felt betrayed somehow. As if all the time we spent had been nothing, as if he didn't acknowledge me, as if he didn't see me.

It was just, "Oh, you're here again. What's up?"

I didn't want that. I wanted him to pay attention.

I wanted him to care.

So I cried and stormed out of the house. Part of me wanted him to chase after me, part of me wanted him to call my name and beg me to understand. Part of me wanted him to say I was just overreacting and that he did miss me, he missed me dearly.

But he didn't come out. There was just me and the empty street. He wasn't chasing after me. He was letting me go.

I cried that night. I cried long and hard. I didn't go out with my friends the next day or the day after. I stayed in bed for a week.

To this day, I don't know how I got over it. But I got over it. Years passed, I grew up. I graduated from college with a degree in graphic design. I got a tiny apartment in downtown Tokyo. It wasn't home, but it was a roof over my head and a place to sleep in. It was good enough. I met a cute guy at the local bookstore. He was sweet and funny, and we hit it off almost immediately. We started dating. He took me to the movies, bought me presents, and showered me with attention. I was happy.

He proposed to me Christmas that year. Wedding plans were set. I was to be a June bride.

The day before the ceremony, I made a quick visit to my childhood home. I wanted to get something, I forget what, before I moved permanently to my fiance's house. It was also to say goodbye, to my old life, to the carefree days of being a kid. I was an adult now. I was going to have a family soon.

I met Kiku-san on the street that day. He was leaning against our gate. My entire family had vacated the house, preparing some part of my wedding. We were alone.

I will be lying if I said I had forgotten him until that very moment in time. I still thought about him. I'd be at work, fiddling with my notepad or something, when I'd think about what Kiku-san was doing right now. Would he like what he was sketching? Would he be proud of what I was doing? He wasn't a constant thought. But his presence always seemed to lurk, and if I let my mind wander, I would find myself thinking of him.

But thinking of him, and seeing him were two very diffrent things. Seeing him again, after all this time, after I haven't heard from his in so long, it was like I was a high-schooler again. And I was running out of his house, crying my eyes out. I realized, yes, I was still mad at him. But at the same time...

He greeted me softly, like he did whenever I would show up at his doorstep, all those years ago when I was still in elementary school. His smile was still as sweet and warm as I remembered, with a touch of shyness. He really hasn't changed.

He really was a 'god'.

I hated him for it.

He congratulated me on finding a worthy husband. He wished me the best of luck with my marriage. He was ever so polite and cool. And I was just as courteous. It felt like we were strangers. As if there were miles and miles of distance separating us. Not as if I spent the better part of my childhood in his company, talking with him, and laughing with him. Not as if I cried on his shoulder the day my grandfather died, not as if I shared with him every single moment of my first date, not as if I modeled for him my new middle school uniform. As if he hadn't been there being my constant support, not as if he was solely the best friend I could have ever asked for.

"I hate this so much." I cried, on the verge of tears.

It wasn't fair. It was always me changing. It was always me moving away. And he just stood there as if nothing was happening. As if I didn't matter.

That's what I despised so much. It was why I cried that night so long ago when I stormed out of his house. I knew. I knew.

I was leaving him. And that he was letting me go.

I felt tossed aside. Wasn't I his friend? If not, why? Why did you invite me into your house? Why did you listen to me? Why were you always there for me? Didn't he care?

I felt it before I even understood what was going on. That same firm embrace that held me when I was frightened, that held me when I was happy, that held me when I was sad. I remember, that day, before my wedding, Kiku embraced me. He hugged me tight.

"I am the personification of the nation Japan. I have lived for a very long time, for far longer than you can ever imagine. I have seen the rise of emperors and the fall of bloodlines. I have seen the face of war and I have committed sins I have yet to atone for. I have watched the birth of my people and I have watched them die. And yet, I have only been a witness to the lives of my children. A mere observer, watching as they passed me by. I am, and have been, an outsider.

But you. But you, my dearest neighbor, you took me into your world. And for ten splendid years, I partook in your life. You shared with me your precious moments and your worst moments. You depended on me to be there. I was someone important to you. I was a part of your life, like I've never been before. While I had been watching as people rushed around me, you took me by the hand and made me run with you.

You let me live with you."

And slowly, but surely, he loosened his grip. And he stared at me squarely in the eyes.

"That's why I let you go. You've got a bright future ahead of you. You've got a whole life just waiting for you. You have a family to make, new memories to create, places to go, and things to do. And me, I'm not going anywhere. I've been like this for a long time and most likely, continue being the same. I'm not going to change. I'll be right here, always.

So come back, years from now and tell me about your life. Tell me how your children are doing. Are they doing well? Are they going to college soon? Tell me the things you have done and the things you want to do. Tell me of all the things you dreamed of and all the things you have accomplished. Just like you did before.

My greatest joy is in sharing your happiness and sadness. My greatest joy is having been there for you. My greatest joy was living with you.

So please, dearest neighbor, live.

Live."

He kissed me on the forehead, so gently it made me cry. And I sobbed into his arms. Because I knew. I knew why I wanted him to notice me, why I wanted him to care. I loved him. I loved him so much. And...

And I wanted him to be happy.

To this day, I have forgotten what I was going to get in that big, old house of mine. But I left with what I needed.

_live_

So, I did.

* * *

tonari- neighbor


	4. Husband

Okay, so... This is not your ordinary love story. And if you're looking for all that sappy, fluffy, froo froo crap, flip ahead a coupla more pages. 'Cuz this story ain't it. It certainly wasn't a case of boy meets girl, and love jes happens. Mmkay? See, I'm what you call a player. Ya dig? Smooth, sweet, and easy on the eyes. Well, ahem, I was at least. Now, I'm a washed-up old dog, uhuh. But don't count me out yet, I still got my charm. It's jes none o' you dames are good enough, ya know. Ah, who am I kidding? Women haven't really caught my eye since the 1980s, not after I met the craziest, scariest, most beautiful broad that ever walked this earth.

Yeah, yeah. Like I said, this isn't your run of the mill love story. See, I kinda fell for this chick, who doesn't have a single lick of interest in me. Let's jes say she's really, I mean like _really_, antisocial, and a bit violent. An' by "a bit" I mean she keeps a knife on her person at all times. Yeah, and I fell pretty hard too. So hard in fact that I married this uninterested, antisocial, violent broad. My luck must be the worst in the world, ya know? Because she said, "I do."

I guess I should start from the beginning, jes to clear up any confusion or whatever. Okay, so this whole, little shebang started in my local coffee shop. I drop by there every so often 'cuz my third best pal is a barista there and he hooks me up. The coffee ain't bad either. But anyways, there I was, getting my daily dose o' caffeine, when I see her, over at this dark, little corner, right? She was reading a book and sipping on a hot, steaming mug of tea. The tea wasn't the only thing hot and steaming if ya get what I'm sayin'. I thought she was one _fine_ babe. So, of course, being the cocky playboy I was, I had to get me a piece o' that action.

Hey, I was twenty-five, young, male, with a healthy libido. Yeah, whaddya I was gonna do? At that time, I didn't know this particular babe was a no-no. And me being well, me, I couldn't jes leave well enough alone.

I won't bore you with all the finer details like what I said or what I did. Mostly 'cuz I can't really remember what I said or what I did. But I do know I flirted, and I wasn't being subtle about it.

Needless to say, she rejected me. But it wasn't even an outright no. She jes ignored me. I wasn't even a blip on her radar. And well, I thought she was jes being shy, so I kept talkin'. And talkin'. And talkin'. Until, she packed up her things and left.

I was humiliated, to put it lightly.

And my third best pal, feeling sorry for me, gives me the downlow on this chick. After wiping his tears from laughing so hard, o' course. An' he tells me that apparently this broad was infamous for turning down every, single guy who asked her out. Every single one. And it was the same every single time. It was never a clear-cut rejection. It was jes like we didn't exist. We were like background noise to her. As frigid as the Siberian air, she was.

Naturally, I took that as a challenge. Jes couldn't leave well enough alone, uhuh. An' I was more determined than ever to get her on a date with me.

I struck out again, and again, and again. Maybe it's cuz I've been around the block a few times, with an ego the size o' Russia. Or maybe cuz I sure as hell didn't appreciate feeling inadequate because some stuck up dame wouldn't give me the time o' day. But at some point I kinda jes broke down, and I was going to take this bitch out on a date if it was the last thing I ever did. Funny thing is, it almost was.

So, what I did was, on like the hundredth time I asked her out, I tol' myself I wasn't gonna take her silent treatment no more. No way. So I grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face me.

Bad move man. Next thing I know, I'm up against the wall with a knife to my throat. And she was glarin' at me so hard, I actually felt it pierce my skin. Or maybe that was jes the knife. Either way, I was sufficiently silenced. I may or may not have shat my pants.

And if things weren't bad enough, it got worse 'cuz I distinctly recall my next few words.

"So, dinner. Tonight?"

It would've been my last words too. But at this point, ya know, she had to give me credit. I mean, I was asking her out with a blade pressed against a major artery. She had to give me props. And whaddya know, she did. Well, okay, so she insulted me a little, called me a "clueless idiot", and if memory serves me right, threatened to cut off my manhood.

So, I says to her. "A man wants what a man wants.

'Cuz, ya know, on the bright side, she was finally talking to me. Every scathin' word that left her lips was a word more than what she said to anybody in that entire coffee shop. Yeah, I felt pretty damn proud of myself right then. Pathetic, yeah? But the most mind boggling thing?

She accepted my offer.

And so, yeah, we did go on that date. It was a disaster, but it happened. An' it started pretty okay too. Well, as okay as dating a girl who keeps a knife on her person at all times. We met up at said restaurant, I was all dressed-up and she... wasn't. She was wearing the same exact dress she wore that mornin'. She couldn't seem more uniterested if she had a glaring neon sign that said "I don't want to be here".

We had a sparkling dinner conversation. Not.

The most I got out of her was her name. And it wasn't even a full name. Just Natalya. When I kept proddin' about her life, her work, her friends, her hobbies, ya know, the usual. Zip. Nada. She gave me the barest of blunt answers, giving me jes enough information to satisfy the questions. No tangents, no anecdotes, no funny "you should have seen the look on his face" kinda stories. She jes lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment at the better part of town. She held a government job as some kind of aid, she wasn't really being specific. And she had no hobbies or friends "and that was such a pathetic question, you impertinent fool."

Oh, and she was already in love with someone else.

How fucking perfect, right? I go through all that trouble jes find that she was taken. So I flipped out and asked her what was she doing? Going on a date with me when she 'loved another'? "Are you shitting me, you bitch?"

And this ice queen (the rumors did not lie), jes rolls her eyes, chews another piece of filet mignon, and says, and I quote:

"I... was bored."

And you know, I couldn't really fault her in that. 'Cuz I mean, hell, I was bored too. I mean, that's the whole reason why I asked her out. I was jes hopin' to get laid, right? Right? Right?

Heh, man oh man was I clueless then or what? She was right, ya know? I was a fool. 'Cuz if I was being honest with myself then, like I guess I kinda am now, I would've known that I didn't want this to be a one night stand. jes another fling to go with all the other ordinary flings. Ya know? There was jes something about her that pulled me in.

Man, I must've already loved her then.

But the dinner was basically cut short there. She didn't order any desserts, feeling she had spent enough time with me already or something like that. So, I paid the check. The bill made my wallet cry. I offered to walk her home. She declined. I followed her anyways.

It was getting dark then. The streets were deserted. And ya know, momma didn't raise no fool an' I knew better than to let a girl walk home by herself. See back in those days, there was danger to be found at night.

And what do you know, we found it.

He came up to us stinking like motherfuckin' hell, looked like hell too. And he had this gun pointed right at us. A damn mugger. O' course, I mean, my day was already crap. Getting jumped was jes icing on the cake.

So, I was scared shitless, right? I try to reason with this bastard. But the asshole wasn't jes about to let us go. Now, I'm a lot of things. I'm a slacker, a smooth talker, a freeloader. But I was not a coward. So I stepped in front Natalya, and told her to run. And that's when some freaky shit went down.

The mugger had laughed, gettin' that crazed look in his eye. I remember 'cuz as half dead as he was. He still managed to pull the trigger.

Bang.

Jes like that.

Ya know, how people say they saw their life flashing before their eyes? Well, they ain't kiddin'. I heard that gun go off and I started seeing myself in diapers, pooping my pants. 'Cuz it certainly felt like I was pooping my pants.

But then, the craziest thing happened. This girl, who would not give me the time o' day, who couldn't care less about me, who loved another, she shoved me out of the way, taking on the bullet herself.

I basically went "Ho-shit!" and screamed like a little girl. Not my proudest moments, no.

And what's more embarassin' than having a girl take a hit for you? A girl defending your ass, uhuh. 'Cuz she did not stop there. Ho, fuck no. This crazy bitch took out her knife, from a place I can't even imagine, and rushed at the guy. And let me tell you, that poor bastard was stunned, I mean who wouldn't be? She just got shot and she's still fighting? Holy hell, what was she made off? But it worked all the better 'cuz she was able to disarm this guy and before the mugger could even shout, she knocked him unconcious. I thought she killed him.

But she didn't. Later on, I learned that she couldn't.

But anyways, I basically started freaking out. Who wouldn't? That was some scarring shit right there. And to make it worse, I saw her shoulder bleedin'. As in she was hurt. As in she could die. So I started blubberin' about getting her to the hospital or some shit like that. I was yelling "Someone get a doctor! Oh god, heeeeeeeeelp!" I was hysterical, surprise surprise.

But this woman, this crazy ass bitch, simply rolled her eyes and gets annoyed with me. Apparently, I was more problematic to her than a potentially fatal wound. So, she decides to shut me up. And boy did she ever.

She goes down on her knees, grabs my chin and pulls me close. No, she didn't kiss me you perverted people. She was jes tryin' ta show me there was nothing worry about. You can imagine how well that turned out.

First, she tells me to be quiet. My mouth snapped shut faster than you could blink. After what I saw her do tonight, I was ready to do whatever she told me to do. Beg on all fours, anything. I mean she took out an armed mugger for Christ's sake. Yeah, what the hell was I gonna do? I could barely bench press 67 kg.

Then, as if she wasn't close enough, she leaned in closer. I felt her boobs push up against my chest. They were nice and firm. I did say I was a healthy, 25-year-old male right? And hoo boy, I could feel her breath on my ear. Freak of nature or not, she was giving me a boner.

Next, she pulls down the collar of her dress. And by this time, yeah I was thinking what all of you were thinking. Don't even pretend you weren't thinking what I know you were thinking. I thought we were gonna get it on, right then and there on that sidewalk.

But o' course that's not what actually happened. She jes took out this lacy, little handkerchief (fairly anticlimatic if you ask me), mops up the blood on her shoulder. And that's when I saw it. The bleeding had already stopped, the wound already closing up. Slowly, but surely. As it turned out, the bullet just grazed her, and it really was just a flesh wound. Nothing too deep or life threatening. But still, it's like, no human should heal that fast!

And I swear she does these things jes to fuck with my head. 'Cuz she even complains about how slowly it was healing.

"#$%" Was all I could manage.

And then she had the gall to blink at me, and I quote: "What is your problem?"

So then I lost it. Jes lost it.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?" I had yelled.

And can ya blame me? I mean I had no idea what was going on. I thought she was insane. Hell, I thought I was insane. So I jes started shouting and kicking up a fuss, ya know, being in a general state of panic.

So, she rolls her eyes. Again. Stands up and towers over me, arms crossed like the dainty woman I knew she wasn't. And dropped the mother of all bombs on me.

"I am Belarus." She had said all casual like, as if we were talking about the weather. "I am the personification of the Republic of Belarus. I am older than you, your father, and your grandfather combined. What say you now?"

And I could only stare at her. I mean, what is the appropriate response when someone tells you they are a Nation? Whatever it is, it certainly wasn't what I said.

"You have got to be shitting me."

And so she glares at me for that, asking me if she looked like the kind of person who 'jokes around'. But ya know, at this point I was still trying to process the fact that someone could be a fucking spot on the map. So I jes stared at her like some kinda dumb animal. And she took my silence as tacit agreement or whatever, 'cuz she jes starts walkin' away. As if everything was settled and there was nothing more to speak of. She was jes gonna up and leave. Jes like that.

O' course, everything was not settled. And she still had to explain things to me big time. But to be quite honest, answers became the least of my worries. When I saw her leaving me, well somethin' jes didn't sit right, ya know?

An' I gots to thinkin' 'bout all those times I saw her in that coffee shop. All curled up in her corner, all by herself. And maybe the world got too damn big or she got too damn small, but there was jes somethin' sad about her. Something lonely. An' I remember I looked at her that night, jes looked at her moving further and further away from me. And I knew, right then and there, I wasn't about to let her go.

So, I stood up and ran after her, making my sentiments perfectly clear. 'Cuz I mean, hell yeah that was a lot of freaky shit that happened right there. And I was still trying to wrap my head around the idea that someone could Belarus. But then... What about Natalya?

Because it wasn't the Republic of Belarus I saw sitting in the coffee shop. Because it wasn't the Republic of Belarus who liked her tea with two lumps of sugar and a hint of cream. And it certainly wasn't the Republic of Belarus who went out with me because she was bored. So, there's got to be a difference right?

So don't tell me that's jes "a proxy title used to blend in with the rest of society". Because we both knew that ain't true.

And so I worked up this little deal between us. She was immortal, right? She's got centuries to kill, right? And she said it herself, she was bored, right? And I still owed her for saving my life. So, then it's like, why not spend a coupla nights with me. I mean, it ain't a bad deal really. I thought I kept pretty good company. I could show her a good time.

And she thought I was being a fool. She had no idea why I couldn't jes let her go. And hell, I didn't know either, the specifics escape me to this day. But...

"A man wants what a man wants." I says to her.

And she blinks, giving me this 'Are-You-Stupid' stare. But I didn't care. Because I was being honest for once, and until that point in my life, I had never said truer words. So, I flash her a smile and she blushes, an' I swear I ain't pullin' your leg but my heart jes started beating so fast. That's when I finally realized, man oh man I must really, really, really like this chick.

And I chuckled a bit. It sounded so simple to me. I like her. I honest to god like her. And so, I did what everybody does when they like someone.

I offered out my hand and said, "Let's go on a date."

And she stared right back at me, not knowing what to say and probably, no definitely thinking I was some crazy motherfucker. And she was probably right. But then, ya know, she would be jes as crazy as me.

Because she accepted my offer.

And that was the start. How I started to date the craziest, deadliest broad this side of the Iron Curtain. And let me tell you, I don't regret a damn minute.

We didn't know it then, but a promise of a few nights grew to a few weeks. I took her out to dinner, brought her to my favorite hangouts, introduced her to all my friends, watched movies, and saw plays.

I learned she was awesome at billiards and had no problems putting some money on the line. I learned that for all the pretty princess dresses she wore, she is the least lady-like person I've ever met. I learned she had a weakness for bonbons and never got drunk. Ever. I learned she cried during chick flicks, and would gut me something awful if I told anyone. I learned she was a lover of the arts and could play a wicked violin.

And so weeks turned to months. Months into a year. A year became two.

And ya know, to be honest, I didn't even notice. Man oh man, I got so whipped. She caught me, hook, line, and sucker. I couldn't help myself. Everything about her jes reeled me in.

The shocker was she wasn't tired of me yet. I mean, after the first month, yeah she had some doubts. But, well, I wasn't holding any hopes. I knew she was still in love with someone else. But I jes couldn't get away. And sure, I mean when a new piece of ass came along, I would flirt. I would tease. I'm a player by nature, what can I say? But yeah man, nobody matched up.

I already found who I was lookin' for. Why bother searchin'?

So I jes kept seein' her again and again and again. And if she learned anything from when we first met, she knew I could be one stubborn sonuvabitch. I guess she jes put up with it. And put up with it. And put up with it.

Until one night, she came to me, to my house. Jes crashed on my couch, kicked up her feet, and asked me what movie we'd watch today. Until one day, she told me where she wanted us to go, together. Until she jes melted in my arms, and it jes felt so right.

And if you want me to be honest, I ignored her other persona. Belarus. I mean, yeah, the signs were all there. How she'd come to me complainin' about something the President told her or how she went out o' the country often. Let me tell you, she canceled our dates so many different times because she had this and that to attend to. But it was jes so easy to pretend that she only had a very high-ranking job in the government, that she was some kinda diplomat. So, I jes ignored it. Her Nationhood. And she knew I was ignoring it too. I never spoke her name, not her real name. Not even in bed. It was always Natalya, Natalya, Natalya. But she played along. I guess, ya know, she was still bored and all. If anything else, she had time to kill, so why not? In her perspective, maybe this really was jes one giant date. The hell I know. But she played along, and I continued ignoring the elephant in the room and we both went about our relationship in relative contentment.

Nothing like a bitchslap from reality to wake you up from a dream. Hoo-wee.

The Chernobyl Disaster happened on April 26, 1986. I don't really know all the details, like how it happened and why. But I knew it was really bad. I saw it with my own two eyes.

We had been together for three years then.

I remember waking up that day, at seven. I remember she had jes fnished another of her little conference thingies with all the other representatives (as I liked to call them). I figured she must jes be settling back home and decided to give her a few more hours of rest before I called. So, I grabbed a bite o' breakfast, settled on the couch, and flipped on the TV to watch the morning news.

And there in glarin' headlines, commentators rattlin' off, was the disaster staring me right in the face. And I thought, holy shit. It was bad, really bad. I knew very well that I could be affected. I mean, I lived at Minsk so I was some ways off. But still, this was nuclear power we were talking about. And that is some heavy-hitting shit right there. And fuck, people must be dying right now if they weren't already. And then, I thought, what about Natalya? I mean, she didn't live that far off from me. But I remember I shook my head and fixed that idea. And I remember saying to myself, "What about Belarus?"

So, I rushed over to her place. And I ain't gonna lie to you. A part of me thought I was jes bein' silly. I mean, c'mon. It's not like she was caught up in the explosion. She should be fine. We're miles away, the radiation won't get to us for a bit. We can leave now and everything would be okay.

But another part of me, the one who took her words to heart. The one who inherently believed that Natalya, my Natalya was Belarus. That part was having a panic-attack. Because I knew. I knew more than anything. The woman I loved was hurt.

There were some government officials already stationed at her house. I asked them where Natalya was and they told me to shove off, those assholes. But as you know, I can be an irritating mothafucka. And finally one of them slipped an' told me, all curt like, that Natalya was at the local hospital.

To this day, I don' remember how I got there. I must've taken a cab, ran, flew for all I care, but I got there somehow.

The staff was giving me hell though, 'cause they wouldn't let me see Natalya either. And I started ranting up a storm, when this brown-haired fella saw me. Now, I never had any prior contact with any of the other Nations, but I knew immediately that he was one of Natalya's colleagues. And apparently, he knew me too. He waved at me and I waved back, and he stared all funny like at my hand. It was a little weird but... I was getting used to all the weirdness... sorta.

He got me through security all right, and I was finally able to see Natalya. Though he did stop me a bit at first. Right before entering in, he grabbed a hold of my hand, and wondered why my fingers weren't broken.

And I jes stared at him. And he finally realized how weird he was acting or something 'cuz he let me go. Though I kept staring at him for a bit more before shrugging it off as some weird Nation thing. Even now, I still don't get it.

Opening that door, I can tell you straight out, that I had no idea what I was expecting. Maybe some deformed woman wasting away before me or something just as bad. But Natalya jes laid on that pristine-white bed, looking fragile as hell, and I was scared that the slightest noise would jes shatter her. The effects of the Incident were jes settling in then. But even in those early hours, she was no longer the Natalya I know. Gone was the strong, confident girl, capable of breaking bones and shattering doors. Gone was the woman I had dated for the last three years. Gone was the Natalya I fell in love with. Instead, here was a stranger I didn't know anything about. Instead, laid out before me, on that pristine-white bed, was Belarus.

And then it hit me. It finally, finally hit me. What being a Nation meant. What being a Nation entailed. What Natalya tried to tell me when she said, "I am Belarus."

Because she was Belarus. All nine million people, all 207,600 km. Every Pa, Ma, Sister, Brother, Daughter, Son. All of them. Her.

I could see it then. I could see all the pain, the panic, the grief. I could see the death of all those already dead, and all those just slipping through her fingers. I knew she felt it all, every heart stopped, every tear shed.

And then. I remember, she opened her eyes and looked straight at me.

She was Belarus. Belorussia.

And she had jes been waiting for me to see her. Waiting for me to wake up and realize she wasn't normal. That she wasn't human. And would you imagine that? I mean, all that time I had been attempting to flirt with her, and now, I was the one unable to see her. Unable to see that, yes, there was a Natalya. There was a young lady who loved hanging out and chilling with people, who loved romance novels and sleeping under the open night sky. But there was also a Belarus. And that for all Natalya was and is, Belarus is who she would truly be. And no matter how much I tried to seperate out that fact...

There could be no seperating Belarus and her people. Their pain was her pain. Their sorrow was her sorrow. And they would always take center-stage in her life. No matter how much I try to push myself in.

I understood then that there was a part of her life, as cliche as it sounds, no mere mortal could ever comprehend. I understood then that there was a part of her life I could never be privy too. I understood then that I could only get half of the story. And yet, I couldn't begrudge her for it.

Because I loved her then. And I still love her now. More than I could ever voice, more than she could ever know.

So, I took her hand in mine. It was already so thin and so frail. I took her hand and squeezed it tight. And I told her.

"Nothing has changed."

Because I knew I wasn't cut out for any of that political stuff. Because I would not make a good government official. Because I could not solve any of Belorussia's problems.

But when everything's said and done. When she's tired, when she's hurt, when the world has stopped and all is calm once again. I could be there for her. I could be there to play billiards with her, or take her to see that new chick flick, or curl up in that coffee shop an' hold her tight. And she wouldn't be alone anymore.

Nothing has changed.

"I'll be here when you get better. I'll be here when you need me. I'll be here when you're ready to be Natalya again."

"You are fool." She had said.

"A man wants what a man wants." I had answered, kissing her hand.

And she blushed, and man oh man, she could be adorable when she wants to be. "Recovery could take years, decades even."

"I can wait. Ya know how persistent I can be. I can wait. So, when you're ready..." I softly kissed her temple. "Let's go on date."

And she stared at me like she'd never seen anything like me before. And when you think about, she's right. I'm one of a kind, right here. But yeah, I mean, I totally get it. If I was in her shoes, I would be stunned as well. After all that and I still wanted to date her? Nevermind the age gap of like a thousand years. Nevermind that I would be "wasting my life away" (her words not mine). But I couldn't help it, ya know? What can I say, I'm a fool. Unbelievable, right?

But even more mind-boggling?

She accepted my offer.

Four years later that is.

Heh. A bit late, but better late than never.

Those four years were hell though, I gotta say. I barely had any news from her other than what I could get on the news. Of course it wasn't the same. I mean, I didn't know exactly how the events were affecting her physically. The only thing I knew was that something bad was happening. And I ended up having these fits of nightmares, always dreaming some apocalyptic scenario and the next thing I knew she was dying in my arms. Because things were bad, things were really bad. And they jes kept gettin' worse.

But then all of a sudden, after virtually no contact for almost four years, Natalya appears on my doorstep. Knocking on my door, arms crossed and as pissy as ever. She had bald patches in her hair, thin as hell, and looked ready to collapse. But she was there. And the moment I let her in, she jes crashed on my couch, like old times. She demanded tea, two lumps o' sugar with a hint of cream. She asked what movie we were watching, and that it better be a chick flick. It was like she never left.

I was floored o' course. I mean, what was I supposed to make of this. But she was here. She was back. And that was all I really cared about.

So, I joined her on the couch. Siddled up to her the way I usually did, she punched me in the gut the way she usually did. But her punch was weaker than usual. And I grunted in mock pain before pulling her close anyways. She sighed in mock resignation. Four years of absence left not a trace.

And the world kept turning.

And for the next coupla months, we were happy and carefree. We lived in this little paradise and there was no one else in the world but us. The whole sappy, fluffy, froo froo crap. Except well, me being well me, I couldn't leave well enough alone. And I gots to havin' this crazy idea in my head. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ya know how it goes. When I get fixated on something... Told ya to skip ahead.

But anyways, this crazy idea o' mine? Well, being a little older then with a bit more maturity (I think), I knew to look before I leap this time. Didn't mean I wasn't going to leap though. I would still take my chances no matter what, but hey, at least I thought about it this time. So, I settled down in this bar with my third best pal, now promoted to jes bein' my best pal, and got stickin' drunk. He knew that Natalya and I had gotten back together again. He thought I was an idiot, but he always thought I was an idiot. An' I told him exactly what I was plannin'.

"I'm gonna ask Natalya to marry me." I tell him.

And my best pal jes looks me straight in the eye and says, "Fina-fucking-ly."

And I took that as positive encouragement. And a week later, I took Natalya out to this fancy restaurant. Yes, it was the same restaurant we had our first date in. What? I can be romantic.

And ya know, dinner went off without a hitch. It was so different from our first date. The mood was a lot relaxed for one. An' she actually laughed too, smiling sincerely and not one of her smug smirks. Then, I took her out on a little moonlit stroll. Yes, the same street where we got attacked by that mugger. But also where she told me she was Belarus. And ya know, by this time she was gettin' all suspicious. She knew I was up to something. But, ya know, she played along.

And we got the end of the street, unruffled and in one piece. An' well, I kinda worked up a little speech right. To lead up to the big question. 'Cuz you never surprise Natalya with anything life changing. I kinda learned that the hard way. So I recited my little intro, tol' her how she still got like so many centuries ahead of her. So, it's like, what's a another year, right? What's a coupla more years? Maybe even a decade? That's just like going steady. No big deal right?

"I'm jes sayin', ya know? Why not make what we got here official? There's no harm right?" An' I blubbered on and on till she finally told me to cut to the chase. An' I did. On bended knee an' everything.

"Marry me?" I says.

And she stared at me again, looking like she'd never seen me before in her life. I had thrown her for a loop, I did. She wasn't expectin' that no way. And I ain't gonna lie to ya, when she started laughing, like actually laughing, I thought she was gonna reject me outright. Instead, she hauled me up to my feet (damn is she a strong woman) and said to me flatout, and I quote,

"Kiss me, you fool."

I didn't even have to ask.

I proposed to her on March 1990. On July 27, 1990, the Belarusian Soviet Socialist Republic declared itself a sovereign nation. Coincidence? I thought not. I guess I wasn't the only one with surprises. It explained why she laughed at my proposal. We must've been thinking the same thing. Right? Right?

And ya know there's a saying, never look a gift horse in the mouth, but I'm me, and I couldn't leave well enough alone. I jes had to be sure that we were on the same page here. 'Cuz, I felt like was stealing her away from the rest of my countrymen. And I didn't want Natalya to feel like she had to choose between me and her people. Between Natalya and Belarus. So, I asked her. Is this really okay? Is it alright for me to marry you?

She only shook her head and smiled.

"It's not customary to work while you're on a date, right?"

An' that was all that was needed to be said.

But so then, we got this whole little arrangement rolling. I finally got to meet more of her little Nation pals. Lemme tell ya, shocked expressions across the board. Except for that brown-haired fella. Somehow, he jes knew. An' I finally gots to meeting her family, one at a time that is. Natalya wasn't too happy with the way I jes stared at her sister's tits like that. But I mean, dude! They were right there and they were all jiggly, heh, jiggly.

"But o' course your tits are always best, darling!"

She slapped me for that.

I didn't meet her brother though, until the very day of our wedding, as he walked Natalya down the aisle.

I knew about him though. When Natalya came back to me, after four years of absence, she began telling me more about Belarus. About her history, and what she was like, and how she was deeply, madly in love with her older brother. But that he brother didn't love her back not in that way.

To say our meeting was awkward would be the understatement of the century.

And when he handed Natalya off to me, I began thinking that maybe Natalya wasn't right about her brother not loving her in that way. Because he didn't seem all that keen about sending his precious little sister off with a shady-looking, thirty-year-old man like me. An' to make matters worse, I barely reached this guy's shoulder so when he leaned towards me I was half expectin' to die right then and there. But he only smiled, it was one o' those sad-happy smiles, and tells me, and I quote:

"Take care of my sister, alright?"

As it turns out, that day in the hospital he had been standing outside the door, watching us interact. Creepy, right? But so he knew that I loved Natalya, and I would never even dream of hurting her. So he gave me his blessing.

The ceremony went off without a hitch. And we sealed it off without a kiss. Easily the best kiss I ever had.

An' there was laughing and singing and dancing. It wasn't a very big gathering, with only Natalya, her siblings, and close family friends, along with me and my family. But it was fun and everyone was smiling. Natalya tossed her wedding veil and a pretty, Hungarian lady caught it. All the bridesmaids squealed.

I remember my parents positively adored Natalya, wondering what such a nice girl ever saw in their good-for-nothing son. I almost spluttered at that. Natalya, nice... Man, oh man.

I remember we were close to fulfilling the tradition of celebrating for three days.

I remember finally learning Natalya's last name. It was Arlovskaya. It was my last name.

We were married on August 22, 1991. On August 25, the Belarusian Soviet Socialist Republic became the Republic of Belarus.

And now, here I am. Here we are. Fourteen years has passed since that day. Fourteen long, wonderful years.

I'm gonna be honest with ya, they weren't the easiest years to be sure. Belarus could only keep away until we finished our little honyemoon. And then it was back to the old grind. But Natalya always came home at 8 p.m. sharp, an' Monday was always movie night, an' Wednesdays we spent hanging out with my friends. So, really. I couldn't complain.

Though at some point, we stopped hanging out with my friends, an' I always had to make an excuse why the guys couldn't see her anymore. I mean, I'm already in my late forties and it's showin'. An' she still looks like a teenager. Yeah, try explainin' that.

But really, a minor detail, only a minor detail.

An' tha's about it. They lived happily ever after and all that crap. I'm sure you've heard enough of this old man blather on and on and on. So, run along. All o' you. This fool has done enough story-telling for the day.

* * *

Natalya. Belarus.

I hope you're not too angry with me for telling everyone you like chick flicks. They were all bound to find out sooner or later. I couldn't help myself ya know? When that young, Japanese dude came up and asked me what you were like, I had to answer didn't I? An' ya know, when they tol' me about this book, I jes about jumped at the chance.

Because, if you're reading this, I'm gone now. I came home about a half a year ago from the doctors. They said I had cancer. They said it already spread too far and I didn't have much time left in me. I didn't tell you this 'cuz... I gotta say I figured this would come sooner or later. I mean, I wasn't gonna fool myself. Natalya, you're immortal. And I'm... not. I knew I would die someday, I just didn't expect it to be so soon, ya know?

And it's really not fair, is it? It really ain't.

But anyways, I didn't tell you 'cuz I wanted the last few moments we had to be happy. I didn't want you to get worried. The sad part is, you probably knew didn't you? You could feel me dying. It's one of those things I never did like about you bein' a Nation. But it's like, thanks for playin' along.

Hey, I hope you had a good time alright? 'Cuz I know I did. Can you believe it? 21 years gone, jes like that! It really must've felt like one long date to you huh? I hope so. I hope that centuries from now, you can look back and remember this. You can look back and remember this stubborn, irritating fool who fell hopelessly in love with you.

Because I am in love with you. Still so hopelessly in love with you.

Hey, Natalya?

I hope you enjoyed our date.


	5. Sister

He was a curious boy, a little one of four, perhaps five, years. He lived with the bishop and this was before the bishop was called Papa. It was a simpler time when my family worried only of crops and weather. He was the child from Church, clad in a white robe. The petite priest he was called.

He was such a serious boy, with flushed rounded cheeks and bent bow lips, always scowling, always pouting, always sad. But I got him to smile, an easy feat once you knew the trick. A good meal, some sweet wine, a long nap, and he would smile, slow and soft. A smile warm as summer sunshine washing the fertile farms. A smile gentle as early morn light kissing those winding Roman streets. Slow and soft, he smiled for me.

I was young then too, of eight years. I thought him my little brother and I, his sister. He was an obnoxious one. He would patter into our home, quick little thing that he was. The bishop had a whole manner of riches to spoil him but he claimed Mama's cooking was best. He needed no invite, simply scurried inside and sidled up to the kitchen, crying food – food – food! His whining could put princes to shame. But we indulged him, our petite priest.

It was simply so natural to have him running about, curling into corners and napping into nooks. Where our home ended and he began, I did not know. He was a seamless fit into our family.

Often, we would sit by the hearth, by firelight in winter and by moonlight in summer. He would read to me the Bible, of Cain and Abel, of Abraham and Ishmael, of John and Jesus. He was a smart boy and very well read, young though he was. He knew the Testaments as well as he knew the back of his hand. He taught me my letters and my numbers knowing full well there could be consequences. But he said I made the best biscotti and he was only repaying his debt. I laughed.

On those warm weather days, those long summer weeks, we would spend countless hours beneath the bright blue sky. We would run through the wheat fields, sample the orchards, and nurse our bruises when we got caught. We went berry hunting and flower picking. He would grumble and mumble, dragging his feet all the way, but spend near forever sifting through the grass, looking for that perfect bloom. Once he found it, he would stutter and mutter, blushing pink as the sun-setting sky above, and he would offer his blossom to me. I would smile, tucking the flower in my pocket, and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. He would turn a pomegranate red and I laughed, teasing him.

It seemed as if those days would never end. That we would simply live our lives frolicking in the hidden glades and soaking in that warm Italian sun. But all too soon, the moon would peek out from the folds of the darkening sky. And I would offer him my hand, and together, we walked home. If we were especially lucky, it would be one of those precious few nights when Papa wasn't bone tired. There would be music flowing free from our humble home, and our neighbors would gather. There would be a chorus of chatter and vibrato laughter, and I would take him to our little courtyard. And we danced beneath the stars.

He never grew old, our petite priest. As the months slipped away, a laughing brook over pebble days, I grew taller but he stayed petulant and he stayed petite. As I aged, cresting as the ocean waves do, swelling and curving into a fine figure, he remained of four or five years. The idle rock frozen on the river banks.

This was before demons were nothing more than dreams, before spirits were simple fantasies. When folk lore had yet to occur and legends were yet myths, he stood barely brushing my widening hips. An anomaly, an enigma, he was an orphan with no known relatives. He had been the bishop's and then the bishop's before him, passed down the line like a priceless heirloom. He was the so called spirit of the people, a timeless being embodying those who called themselves Romans. And no one questioned his existence. They were far too occupied with their affairs to spare him more than a cursory glance. He was relegated to the background, no more special than the cobblestone streets. They whirled about their lives, passing him by. But I stopped, or rather he had stopped me. I had been on my way to the market in hopes of supplementing our then meager meals. He had been standing on the Church steps, giving a sermon to a flock of pigeons. A queer sight it was, a petite priest and his congregation of birds. It was queer and funny and reeked of a loneliness I could not then fathom. So I had stopped.

I had stopped and I had found this curious little boy all by himself. He had flushed, rounded cheeks and bent bow lips, always scowling, always pouting, always sad. I didn't see a spirit. So I smiled, inviting him to supper. He turned a pomegranate red and shot his volley of insults. But I was patient and I offered him my hand. And together, we walked home.

We were family. We have always been family. Even before we met, we were already family. I did my best to care for him. I held him when he cried. I picked him up when he fell. I comforted him those cold, stormy nights, as thunder warred in the heavens. And he was my brother. My troublesome little brother who picked fights with squirrels, who stole food from the kitchens, who peed in bed then lied about it, who broke the pottery whenever he drew near. He was my headache every morning and a shouting match at night. He was stomping feet, slammed doors, and a new tear in my best dress. He was a bane to my existence. He was my little brother. He was the little brother I helped sneak out of boring Bible lessons, the little brother I hid from the bishop's rampant fury, the little brother I carried on my back those sleepy afternoons after a long day of play. He was tickle fights and teasing jokes. He was messy hours of cooking lessons and burnt biscotti that still somehow tasted so sweet. He was my troublesome, annoying, foolish, lovable little brother.

And though he was finicky, filled with the arid air swimming from the south. Though he was mercurial in mood and cried often, complained always. For as much as I took care of him, he took care of me more, so infinitely more. There was strength in that stubborn scowl of his, steady and firm as the mountains to the east. A strength I don't believe he quite rightly realizes. He had been my rock. He had watched over our family, made sure we were never wanting, never starving. He spared us a cow when ours died of disease. He had hired a search party and brought back my sister that one time she stupidly eloped with a swindler. He had toddled up to me, the night of Mama's death, and despite his size, he pulled me into his arms. And he helped me cry the tears I tried to tuck away. And when the time came, and a suitable suitor asked Papa for my hand, he aided my acquirement of a dowry. Then he kicked my husband's balls a few minutes shy of the ceremony. He threatened pain and punishment if I were to ever shed a tear.

He had this earnest desire, almost a desperation, to take care of me, to protect me. He confessed to me once. It had been the night of my wedding, when wine spilled endlessly and celebration roared. He was drunk, having imbibed on far too much wine for a boy of his size. And he told me of his grandfather and how his grandfather suffered. He spoke of how he could only watch as his grandfather splintered and broke, how he could do nothing as that German bastard dealt the finishing blow. He confessed to me how helpless he had been to protect the only family he knew. And just once, he wanted to do something right, to be strong enough and brave enough to protect those he cared for.

Then he threw up and fell asleep on my lap. I had forgotten then, for it was so easy to forget, to turn a blind eye. But that night, before I was carted off by my husband, I saw him huddled around the warmth of my bosom. And I remembered. My brother is small. He was little. As precocious as he was, as loud and proud, as obstinate and strong as he was, he is still a child yet at the same time so very old, and so completely, utterly foolish.

He bore the world on his back and a chip on his shoulder. And I wanted nothing more than to box his ears. He was so stupid and blind and so irritating because of it. He couldn't see what he had done for me. He couldn't see how invaluable he was. And I dare say, I spent the rest of my life trying to show him. I let him protect me, let him fuss over our family. For nothing could bring me a greater pleasure than to watch my dearest little brother light up around my grandchildren, how they fawned over him. And I would tease him, warning him not to grow so big a head or he might just blot out the sun.

He would stick his tongue out and pout, fighting down a smile. And funny how it is, that nothing has changed. Though I have grown old, though years painted their passage on the white of my hair, though the ages are sculpted into the wrinkles of my brow, he and I still bicker and banter. There is still that mocking laughter and scripted anger. He is still my incessant shadow, clinging to my skirts and crying food – food – food! Although his biscotti has improved. It's almost as good as mine, well almost. He says mines is simply the best there is. And I smile, ruffling his hair.

And even though I have long since learned to read, we still sit by the hearth, by firelight in winter, by moonlight in summer. And he tells me of Adam and Eve, of Mary and Joseph, of St. Peter in Heaven. And I pretend I do not see the drops of water blurring the Bible ink. We still go flower picking, though my bones are weak and my joints creak and I have long lost the ability to stoop. He still sifts the grass, thoroughly, painstakingly, for hours on end, searching for that perfect bloom. And he still blushes a pomegranate red as he offers his flower to me. And as the day draws to a close, I offer him my hand, and together, we walk back home, just as we have always done the last forty or so years.

His entire hand now fits into my callused palm. And I pretend he isn't taut and tense. I pretend I do not feel his every quiver, his every tremble. I pretend I do not feel his fear, that he isn't clutching my hand with all his strength, because soon, all too soon, I will fade away. Just as the mists melt in the morning warmth, as his grandfather did once upon a time, I will also leave him behind. So I squeeze his hand, just as tight, and I pretend I do not fear my numbered hours. And together, step by step, we walk home.

It is now the wee hours of dawn. My troublesome little brother, you lay before me, fast asleep on my lap. And I am reminded of when you curled in my closet, when I had to visit relatives far away, and I was gone for days. I would return home and find you nestled in my dresses, fast asleep. I remember that one bored evening we tried to steal from the bishop, only to be cornered by a rabid mongrel. It had bared its teeth, dripping of hunger. And with your knees shaking, you had picked up a stick and you had bashed it on the head. The mutt was deterred and ran away. You peed your pants. But you had been very brave and very strong.

I hope you remember that, little brother. I hope you remember that you are stronger, braver than you give yourself credit for. And if you ever think otherwise, so help me I will descend from the Heavens and spank you so hard, your ears will be ringing. And you know I will.

I know I have lived a long life, a happy life. I was married to an honest, hard working man who took care of me. I had three sons and a little girl of my own. I have plenty of grandchildren. I have weathered through my fair share of storms. The death of my youngest still haunts me to this day. I have committed follies and made my mistakes. I have been brought to tears by hardships. It wasn't an easy life. But it was my life. And I was happy to have shared it with you, little brother. I was happy to have your irritating pleas for food wake me up every morning, without fail. I was happy to clean up after all the messes you made. I was happy dancing with you those nights so long ago. I was happy watching you smile after a good meal, some sweet wine, and a long nap. I was happy that you were happy. You are my little brother, always have been and always will be. And I wouldn't trade that honor for all the riches this world could offer.

Hey, Lovino. Thank you for everything.


End file.
